


The Old Game

by Trobadora



Category: She-Ra: Princess Of Power
Genre: Consent Issues, F/F, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catra takes a captive. Adora finds something that was lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarabithia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/gifts).



She-Ra bursts through the wall, right into the hall of machines that is the Horde's latest project in this region. Her fists pound the last of the troopers into dust; then it's just her and their commander.

She stands calmly, her legs spread, her hands on her hips. "Force Captain Catra."

"She-Rrrrrrrra." Catra purrs her name, as she always has.

They face off. It always ends the same way, but Catra never stops trying.

Catra doesn't know her, has no idea who is truly standing before her. She only knows She-Ra the rebel. It's for the best.

Catra laughs as the battery ram slams straight into She-Ra's middle, propelling her through the air. She's still laughing as She-Ra, only slightly dazed, jumps to her feet again - only to have strong metal bars descend right in front of her, boxing her in.

She-Ra slams an elbow against one of the bars. Nothing happens.

Then the energy beam comes online. Catra strolls closer, practically purring with satisfaction.

She-Ra tries to bend the bars out of the way. They won't give. Instead, she suddenly feels dizzy.

That is the moment when she actually begins to worry. She looks around. She recognises this set-up - should have recognised it right away, she realises: this is the chamber Hordak once used to drain energy from He-Man in order to power his magnabeam.

This is the chamber that would have defeated He-Man, if it hadn't been for She-Ra's timely rescue. Who is there to rescue her now?

Catra reaches down and picks up the sword She-Ra dropped when she was thrown across the room. She lifts it in her hand, examines it curiously. One corner of her mouth twists up. "Perrrfect."

What does Catra know about the Sword of Protection? She-Ra watches, futilely pulling at metal that stubbornly refuses to bend.

She opens a slot in the machine that is draining She-Ra. She-Ra can't see what's inside; it's out of her field of vision. But the light flickering out tells her enough. This is where the energy beam is focused through one of the crystals Hordak stole from the Miyillar Mines, all those years ago.

With a quick movement, Catra switches out the crystal, substitutes the Sword of Protection instead.

She-Ra feels the difference immediately. The draining beam is now focused through the crystal embedded in the sword. The very crystal that gives She-Ra her powers, that sustains her transformation. No. No!

Catra laughs. "This will drain you better than anything, She-Ra."

Catra is right. It feels like she's being pulled away from herself.

~*~

It takes a long time. Catra keeps watching, throwing out the occasional taunt. She struggles to respond, until she has no energy left to spare for that.

She can feel herself slipping.

And then it's too late. No. This mustn't happen. Not in front of Catra - not in front of anyone. No!

But she loses hold of herself. Not shifting as she normally does, between one instant and the next, but slip-sliding through the transformation at a snail's pace.

She can't hold it back. One last desperate strain, then it is Adora who lies there in the machine's devastating grip.

Blessed darkness closes around her.

~*~

Adora wakes lying on a bed, stripped to her underwear. Her wrists are lashed to something above her head, her ankles tied to posts at either side of the foot of the bed.

She struggles futilely. She-Ra's strength is gone; she's been well and truly forced out of her other self. And the ropes are more than enough to hold someone several times Adora's strength. She's caught. Truly caught.

What's worse: The Horde knows, now. All they need to do is kill Adora, and She-Ra will never trouble them again. Adora shivers.

A laugh comes from somewhere outside her field of vision. She would know that voice anywhere.

Catra saunters closer. There is cruel amusement on her face. It's her favourite expression.

"Well, well, well. Adorrrrrrrrra." Catra purrs. "Look at the mouse we've caught." She rests a hand on Adora's bare knee for a moment, then runs it up the inside of her thigh slowly, so slowly.

Still playing the old games.

~*~

Catra straddles her. She drags a claw across Adora's throat. Sense memory overwhelms her, and she has to swallow, convulsively.

Her entire body feels raw, _aware_ in ways it hasn't been in years. Everything is heightened. Catra's feather-light touch is almost too much.

No! This isn't how things are. This isn't who she is. Everything is different since Shadow Weaver's spell was lifted. All that was before ... it doesn't matter, can't matter. None of it was real.

Catra's laugh is seductive and familiar. A comfortable threat.

It shouldn't be. Adora shivers. It can't be. But she still thrills to Catra's touch, still craves the strain against her bonds and Catra's weight on top of her, Catra's hands on her, cruel and gentle all at once.

This never was Shadow Weaver's spell, was it?

It can't be.

~*~

She-Ra could free herself from these bonds easily enough. But she is not She-Ra now. May never be again.

For a moment she looks at Catra as she used to, and her heart clenches. Catra is tense, her entire body wound like a spring, but she often was. Adora used to be the one to teach her how to relax.

She was Catra's commander, in the Horde - but off-duty, in private, things were different.

But that all is over, has been over since Shadow Weaver's spell was lifted.

Has to be over. They are enemies, after all.

~*~

She'd left Catra behind, turned away without a second glance. Having found out that she was not who she'd believed herself to be, she'd left all of her life behind to start a new one among the rebels. Never once had she wondered if perhaps she wasn't the only one influenced by Shadow Weaver's magic; never once had she tried to reach out to those she'd known before. Even when Chakra, her old Horde caretaker, had joined the rebellion, it had been easy to dismiss it as an exception.

Now, she is re-evaluating everything. Perhaps Catra is under some influence too.

No, she's not. Adora knows better. Knows Catra better. But she'd never even cared to check, did she? She'd owed her that much, at least.

Too late now. Too late for so many things.

~*~

Catra has always loved control. Adora has always loved Catra's control. It was easy, then - it's not easy now.

Catra, after all, is a willing follower of the Horde. She is the enemy; she is everything Adora realised she could not be when Shadow Weaver's spell was broken. Catra cares nothing for the people the Horde tyrannises, exploits and abuses; she cares nothing for the many deaths.

She cares nothing for Hordak either, would betray him in an instant - has done so before. But she wants to _rule_ , and she will never, never deny anything that gives her a sliver of power.

Catra wants power. For this, she will follow any master, commit any atrocity, betray any trust. And she will do it gladly, Adora knows. But she can't turn away now. Not now that she knows it was real.

"Catra," she whispers. Her voice is hoarse. She wants. Oh, she wants.

Catra's lean body stretches on top of her. Sharp claws scrape lightly over her skin. Catra leans forward, her long dark hair pooling on Adora's skin. "Force Captain," Catra corrects, almost gently.

It used to be a different title, once upon a time. But then again, Force Captain used to be Adora's rank. If that's how Catra wants it now ...

Adora knows she should deny her. She knows she should resist.

She has never been able to resist this side of Catra. And what can she do, anyway? What can she do but play along, hoping to find an opening at some point?

"Force Captain," she breathes. And her entire body seems to shiver with the words.

Catra smiles, sharp-toothed and secret. Her lips brush Adora's for a moment - briefly, much too briefly - then she trails bites along her chin, down her throat.

"Say it again," Catra murmurs against her collarbone. Her right hand is cupping Adora's breast now, a leather-covered finger brushing idly over a nipple.

It's both too much and not enough.

Adora complies. "Force Captain ..." She strains up against Catra. "Please ..."

A sharp pinch. Catra twists her nipple and holds. Adora moans helplessly.

Catra's mouth closes over her other nipple. Lapping, sucking, finally biting down. Adora surges against her. Catra lifts her head and laughs.

~*~

Catra's fingers push into her. Three fingers at once. _Good._ Adora bucks up, needing more.

Catra's other hand spreads over Adora's stomach, pinning her down. Her claws are extended just enough to prick a little: a delicious warning. Adora subsides.

"Mrrrrr. Good kitten," Catra purrs, and Adora's heart clenches at the old pet name. "Hold still now."

Catra's fingers thrust into her once, twice, then they withdraw completely. Catra brings her hand up to Adora's mouth. "Lick," she instructs.

Adora obeys, shuddering. The taste of herself is never this heady when she is on her own. Catra's eyes on her are a steady weight.

After a moment, Catra's fingers are pushing into her again, stretching her wide. Almost painfully wide. Four fingers.

She can see where she is going, and she almost comes from the thought alone.

~*~

She almost can't breathe. She tries to spread her legs wider, but she can't. Catra's fist inside her clenches, and Adora convulses around her.

"You were mine. Mine!" Catra hisses. "And then you ran away." Her hand twists, and Adora screams again. Her throat is hoarse. She misses the leather band across it. It should be there, a steadying, comforting pressure, but it isn't.

"Yours," she rasps.

Catra's free hand slaps painfully across her face. A sting this harsh will leave bruises.

"You left! Without so much as a word." Catra's fist pushes deeper into her. It hurts, but it's oh so good.

"I ..." Adora strains for words. Catra would never have joined the Rebellion. What else could she have done? But she knows. She knows. "I'm sorry," she rasps. "I needed to go. You wouldn't have let me."

Catra isn't listening. Her free hand is moving down. She pinches Adora's clit between thumb and forefinger. And as her fist begins to rhythmically move, her fingers squeeze.

It hurts. She is stretched far too wide; the pinch on her clit is far too forceful. All of it hurts. Adora strains against her bonds, strains to surge against Catra's touch. Strains for more.

Her eyes are clenched; there are tears running from their corners. She doesn't see Catra bending down. There are only Catra's sharp teeth, suddenly biting into her thigh. With a strangled scream, she comes.

~*~

Afterwards she lies shivering, coming down from the rush, remembering. Remembering Catra's caresses , the ones that used to come, after. Catra can be gentle, after.

But now Catra sits apart, no part of them touching any more, and her face as she looks down on Adora is not gentle at all.

Adora understands perfectly. This is who they are to each other, now. Catra will deliver her to Hordak, and because they now know she is She-Ra, she will not be able to escape. She will be dead. The Horde will have won. Hordak will be proud of Catra. Catra will be proud of herself.

For a moment Adora almost despises herself for still caring, still craving ...

But all of that would happen regardless, and Adora can't regret finally understanding the truth between them. She can't regret having known Catra's touch one last time.

~*~

After a long silence, Catra leans forward again. Her hair falls across Adora's face. Adora breathes in its scent, wild and familiar. Everything that was lost. She steels herself for what is to come.

A whisper against her ear: "Hordak doesn't know."

Then a blow strikes Adora's temple, and she knows nothing more.

~*~

When she wakes, she is alone. Every muscle in her body aches. She is sore in places she hasn't been sore in for years. Her left cheek is throbbing. So are her nipples, the bite marks on her neck and breast and thighs, the tracks of claws on her belly. She must have bruises everywhere.

But there is a sword lying next to her head, just about within reach of her bound hands. With a little twisting and straining, she manages to grip it.

For a moment she hesitates. Everything has changed, and yet nothing has.

"For the honour of Grayskull!" Adora cries. And as the transformation comes over her, she knows this is far from the end of it.


End file.
